


Tend to the Inner Flame

by DariusSobreitus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gift, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Dragon Age II, References to Depression, post-Adamant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DariusSobreitus/pseuds/DariusSobreitus
Summary: Anders wanders the Anderfels, alone and forsaken by all he loved. He sits at a crossroad, as a certain Spirit of Compassion comes in search of him.





	Tend to the Inner Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verygruntled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verygruntled/gifts).



Off the road to the Anderfels, a man cloaked and downtrodden sat in the hollow of a tree. The cover from the rain did nothing to warm his body, rains and cold air were common in this area, with little in the way of inn or tavern for leagues all around. Not that he would seek it, for Anders had long since abandoned such comforts. At least since Justice joined with him.

                The Apostate shivered, bringing the cloak tighter around him. His staff laid out beside him, out of sight but within reach of any who might rob or attack him. His clothing was threadbare, what used to be rich black and gold robes were tattered and weathered from months, or was it years, of travelling. They almost matched the grey of his robes before he joined with Justice, maybe that was why Anders felt more like himself than before.

                Since Kirkwall he had been on the move, the twin entities had agreed the destruction of the Chantry was necessary. Not for want of blood, but because neutrality and compromise would eventually fail, and when it did, it would have been worse for the Mages there. Better to take the blame and put a face on it, one of righteous rebellion, and not of whimpering submission.

                Yet it had not been the hardest of Anders’ endeavors, what came after was. After the fleeing Mages had ousted Anders from their group, he traveled with Hawke. Despite everything, he still loved him. Refusing to abandon him or dismiss him from his side. Truly, he was far more than he deserved. He wondered idly if he would have helped him, had he told Hawke about his plans would he have helped him? Or would he have found a better way? He didn’t know, it didn’t matter now.

                He had been called away to aid the newly-formed Inquisition, an advisor against Corypheus, an enemy they all thought slain. He had not heard from his since, not that hard considering that Anders had been on the move since then, keeping off the road during the day, staying away from cities and towns as best he could. They wouldn’t know his face, but he wouldn’t go near them regardless. He’d done enough to ruin lives, even if the cause was just, his heart ached from all he had hurt in the progress.

                Justice had been silent in his thoughts since then, Vengeance hadn’t been brought forward either. He wasn’t gone, but he was silent. Perhaps he felt his task was done and he need only wait for the next opportunity to arise, yet Anders wasn’t sure. It felt…empty now. His heart and mind. Empty without Hawke, the one shining light in his life, and empty without Justice, perhaps the one guiding force in his life. Without either, he felt aimless, a vagrant in places he did not know.

                He shivered again, chancing it as the road was deserted, Anders let flames lick at the ends of his hands. Warming him and the air at once, relief flooded his muscles and bones, feeling the flame warm his center and core to affect. The wood around was too wet and scattered to make a good campfire, but this should do, so long as no one came up the road when he cast the flames.

                After a few moments of heat and feeling relatively warm and dry, Anders felt rather than heard someone approach. He killed the flames and put one hand on his staff, eyes peaking from his hood towards the road, watching for any who would approach. He thought he could make out a figure in the shadow of the rain, but it disappeared. Only to reappear again, it approached, and Anders began to make out features.

                A wide-brimmed hat upon a person of slender proportions, male he assumed. The figure seemed to know he was there, approaching silently and with careful steps.

                “I know you’re there,” He said, his voice soft and youthful. “It’s alright, I’m not here to harm you.”

                “Go away,” Anders all-but snarled. Not taking kindly to anyone who approached him on the road, he didn’t have Hawke’s humor or charisma to talk his way out of situations. Nor did he have to patience to deal with this intruder of his solitude.

                “I know you’re hurt,” The boy said, his tone not quite placating nor was it a personal knowing. He continued to approach. “You miss him, you miss the way he makes you feel. The way he looks at you. That he knows you, he cherishes you. That he doesn’t see you as a monster.”

                The words stung him icily in his heart, the overwhelming feelings of it all and the supposed knowing of this boy made him lash out, both in fear and anguish. Anders mustered ice to his hand and threw it towards the boy. Whether it was poor aim on his part or the boy’s ability to dodge, the Ice avoided him, and he continued to approach.

                “I’m not here to hurt you!” The boy said, far less desperate and panicked than he should be for having been attacked. “I’m Cole, I was there with Hawke, at Adamant. He sent me to find you!”

                The blissful pain of hope began to worm in Anders’ heart. Hesitantly, he lowered his hands. The boy approached again, standing only a few feet from him. The Mage looked up, looking past the brim of the hat, seeing the eyes, grey, but something was strange about them.

                His time with Justice and sharing thoughts allowed Anders ability to see spirits, whether in disguise or possessing someone. The signs usually were what one might call an aura, an energy surrounding the person, a feeling as often as it was something he could see. The boy had one, but unlike most possessed bodies inhabited by a demon or spirit, the boy’s was clear. It lacked the aggressive grasp of a Rage Demon, the dark shadows of a shade, the arrogant power of Pride, or the seductive whispers of Desire. The boy had an aura like that of a spirit, perhaps one of compassion, calm, serene, and gentle, yet it was also human-like in make-up. Stuck to the body of the boy, and not far reaching.

                Anders let himself relax, this boy, Cole, was like him in a way. Neither Spirit nor Human, but something more, something different.

                “You know Hawke?” Anders asked his voice hoarse from disuse.

                “Yes,” Cole said. “I was with him and the Inquisitor. He sent me to find you, and I have,” The boy paused, looking perplexed as if he was listening. There was only rain to speak of as of now. “You don’t want to be saved.”

                The tone was matter of fact, and true.

                Anders had spent the last several years losing everyone he came to care about, nearly destroying himself for his cause, and yet, it brought him nothing. No elated cry of righteousness as he and Justice hoped, nor a feeling of satisfaction of doing the right thing, nothing but the bitter rain and cold air. Even Hawke had left him in pursuit of active gains, things he could change and help with. But that was him, always one the move, always helping someone.

                “Dark hair curls through my fingers, soft and thick like the mane of a horse. He smiles at me with tenderness, warmth, like I’m not broken, like I’m worth fighting for, like I deserve to be loved,” Cole said. His words brought forth a memory that Anders had distanced from in the recent years. Their first night together, a long time ago. “I give way to passion, wanting nothing more to be with him. His lips on mine, the tickling of his beard on my lips, on my ear as he whispers his loving words to me.”

                “What are you doing?” Anders asked, more memories brought forth. Far from being angry, Anders felt warmth flood his chest again, this time from the memories.

                “He loves you, and you love him,” Cole said. “He sent me to find you, he misses you. He wants you to be safe, to be alright again. He doesn’t care what you’ve done, all he wants is to be with you. To hold you in his arms.”

                “How can you know that!?” Anders demanded, suddenly defensive.

                “He told me,” Cole said. Anders looked up at him, the calm sincerity in this boy’s face and voice broke away all the cold layers he had wrapped himself in. Tears slowly fell from Anders’ eyes, tears that should have been shed a long time ago, yet had not. Tears that needed to be released.

                How long had it been since he had spoken to someone, anyone? How long had it been since he held Hawke, felt him in his arms? How long had he been so alone?

                “Too long,” Cole answered. He crouched next to him, offering a hand. “Now, you must go to him. Now you must heal, for him and yourself.”

                Anders looked at the offered hand, then back up to the boy. “Do you know what I’ve done? How many have died because of me?”

                An emotion passed through the boy’s eyes and face, for a second, he had looked angry. “Yes,” His voice was hollow, but his hand remained where it was. “You did what you knew was right. _‘Better to take the blame and put a face on it, one of righteous rebellion, and not of whimpering submission’._ ”

                Hearing his own words spoken back to him made his straighten his back. Was this to be his fate? Wasting away on the side of a road, waiting for something or someone to guide him? Or would he take the hand offered to him and strive to make the world better as he once had? To be better?

                He looked up again, Cole nodded in support. He swallowed, then exhaled.

                He took his staff and stood to his feet, letting Cole’s hand aide him in standing.

                “He’s in Kirkwall,” Cole said. “I can take you-“

                “That’s alright,” Anders said with a shadow of a smile. “I know my way.”

                With strength, determination and fire in his bones, Anders set upon the path. Staff bared proudly, and shoulders high, amber eyes staring forward. Energy and drive not felt in years warming every muscle and bone in his body.

                Cole watched him go, a rare and tentative smile touching his pale lips. “You do.” He faded then, allowing Anders to go on his way again. Alone perhaps, but no longer aimless. No longer weighed by pain and doubt. He would soon return to he was, to whom he loved. And nothing would stand in his way.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a birthday present to a friend, I've decided to post it here. Interesting idea, I'm sure others could make a better story than I with these two.


End file.
